Page 23 of Thirty Days in Paris

Juliet got out her phone. ‘It’s easier if I show you.’ She had an album of screenshots of the covers of the books she had ghosted. She scrolled through them, and Nathalie gasped in admiration at some of the names she had been behind.

‘No way! I love that actress. Was she nice to you? Or was she a total diva?’

They spent the next ten minutes gossiping and sharing anecdotes. Nathalie told her about all the stars and celebrities who had been in She Cried Champagne, for it was a favourite haunt for those in the know.

It was as if the years had rolled away as they laughed and speculated and finished each other’s sentences.

‘Do you remember those introductions we did at the language school?’ Nathalie sat back in her chair, wistful. ‘We were so green and naïve, but here we are. Wise and successful and completely amazing. To us, I say!’ She clinked her glass against Juliet’s.

‘I’m so glad I came here,’ said Juliet softly. ‘I nearly didn’t.’

‘I’d have killed you if you hadn’t. Thirty days? I’m going to get you right back on track. We are going to have such fun.’

All the fun she had never got to have in the end, thought Juliet.

Nathalie was looking around the bar, which was starting to fill up. ‘Listen, I’d better get back to work. We’re down a waiter tonight so I need to be hands-on.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry I distracted you.’

‘It’s fine. I’m the boss.’ Nathalie turned the bottle upside down and put it back in the ice bucket. ‘Hey, let’s meet for lunch tomorrow. It’s easier to take time off then.’

‘I would love that.’

Nathalie pulled out her phone. ‘Let’s trade numbers. I’ll WhatsApp you where to meet. It won’t be early – I have to go to the market first.’

‘That’s fine by me.’ She could do some more work, Juliet thought. She hadn’t told Nathalie about her book yet. There’d be time over lunch.

Nathalie hooked an arm around her neck. ‘Welcome back, old friend.’

It was so nice, thought Juliet, to have the warmth of friendship. One of her reasons for coming to Paris was so she wouldn’t be under the microscope of her friends at home, asking if she was OK, if she’d found somewhere to live, someone to date. They would over-analyse her progress, possibly with an element of self-interest, in case what had happened to her happened to them. She knew how much they all cared, but she wanted some time on her own to figure out who she was and what she wanted. Getting Nathalie back was the perfect substitute. Someone who knew her, but no one else in her life, so she could behave as she wished without being the subject of speculation, or any of it getting back to Stuart as idle gossip. It made her feel safer, secure, more confident. Thank goodness she’d had the courage to come back, she thought, as she slipped out of the bar and into the night’s embrace.

Back at the apartment, Juliet looked at her watch. She might have had half a bottle of wine, but she felt wide awake, the memories buzzing in her brain. She knew from experience that it was important to seize the moment and write while the images were vivid, for they might fade into obscurity and become blurred if she waited. So she made herself a strong black coffee and sat down at her desk.

14

The Ingénue

‘You can borrow whatever you want.’ Nathalie’s aunt waved her hand around the racks of clothing in her tiny emporium.

I felt completely overwhelmed. It was heaven. Reams of as-new clothing, beautifully laundered and pressed, at a fraction of the price they must have cost.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Just look after them. They’ve already been worn, so what does it matter?’

Gigi was as chic as Corinne, but not nearly as terrifying. She had a kindness and warmth that made me understand why Nathalie adored her so much. She’d found her niche here in Paris and was an underground success. Those in the know flocked here for last season’s cast-offs. It was smart and I felt nothing but admiration as I searched through the hangers. Silk and suede and lace; chiffon and bouclé and merino slipped through my fingers. There were shoes and boots too, and a couple of belts, and several scarves. I felt giddy with it all as I recognised some of the labels – Agnès B, Chloé, Lanvin. I lifted up a fine sweater and felt a thrill as I wondered what I would look like, what I would become, in these clothes.

‘Try this.’ Nathalie handed me a black leather skirt.

‘Do you think?’

‘Yes!’ said Nathalie, in that tone of voice I’d come to recognise, the one that urged you to take chances.

I shimmied into it, amazed that it fitted. I did up the zip, then pulled on a lace shirt to go with it. I slipped into a pair of high-heeled ankle boots and gasped: I looked a stone lighter, for the clothes were fitted and tailored, designed to flatter. The leather and lace clung to me and I felt a confidence I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t believe the power a simple change of clothing had given me. It frightened me a little bit. What would this new Juliet be capable of? I wondered, as I turned to the side and admired my sleek new look.

For a moment, Olivier’s face flittered into my head. What would he think if he saw me? I couldn’t stop thinking about him. We had talked for ages that afternoon, Nathalie barely getting a word in, until I realised I had to get back to help with bedtime. He’d told us about a gig he was going to at the weekend, in Pigalle. My stomach had been in curlicues since, knowing I might see him.

‘Try this.’ Gigi walked over with a scarf and looped it round my neck, foulard-style.

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